


The Sniper and the Scavenger Hunt

by MarvelLitChick



Series: Maybe Life is Just One Big Marathon... [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Darcy Lewis, Birthday, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes-centric, F/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Surprise Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 13:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14426820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelLitChick/pseuds/MarvelLitChick
Summary: Darcy's wandered off, leaving Bucky nothing but a mysterious text message. What follows is, in fact, a call-back, of sorts, to Date Night Dash, a bit of a Manhattan Mamba or a Cross-Town Shuffle. Part Ten of my Marathon series.





	The Sniper and the Scavenger Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, my God, you guys. Life. Is crazy. How much time has passed since my last post?! I'm not sure I've gotten to thanking you all for that last chapter, I always lose track, like, EVERY TIME. So apologies if I missed you. Please know I read every comment like a greedy little kid and I love you all for reading and enjoying. I really hope you all love reading these as much as I enjoy writing them.  
> That being said, I've been having a bit of a problem. I've been struggling to write a sequel for about a month and a half now. Then I realized the problem: a little something called Infinity War. Yeah. That. I realized that, as I've tried to keep things relatively in-canon, with the odd twist or omission, this beast of a movie is going to be so incredibly large that I won't be able to see around it. Therefore, it occurred to me that I was having trouble coming up with a decent plot, because I had no idea where the ACTUAL plot was going. So I wanted to write something, desperately, but didn't feel like I could move in any real direction before seeing the movie and figuring out how to twist it to include Darcy.  
> So. I wrote this. I'll just...leave it here. I'll be back soon to rave about said movie and hopefully post an actual chapter.  
> Anyway, it's not much. But it's a short and sweet little ditty to tide me--and hopefully you too--over in the meantime.  
> Love always.  
> Sarah

Tongue.

_Wet_  tongue.

No, wet,  _slobbery_ ,  _overenthusiastic_  tongue woke Bucky on Saturday morning, pulling him from a deep, dark, dreamless sleep—just the sort he liked.

So,  _not_  Darcy, then.

He opened his eyes to find Max, their German Shepherd grinning down at him from his perch on his chest, not quite an elephant, but no guinea pig either.

“Morning, Max,” he yawned, reaching up to scratch the young pup behind his left ear. Max twitched and leaned into his hand, darting his tongue out again to kiss his nose.

Bucky chuckled, glancing up—

To find himself otherwise alone in the bed.

He frowned. “Darce?”

No answer.

Gently shuffling Max off of him, he sat up and pulled his human hand through his hair, stifling another yawn. “Babe?”

Still nothing.

Max hopped down off the bed as Bucky slid to his feet, pulling on a t-shirt to add to his boxers. It was a bright and sunny morning, and while it wasn’t warm out yet, early March was certainly promising an early spring in Manhattan. The streets far below were scattered with small crowds already out for their weekend tasks, light winter coats and sweaters on every corner.

Wakefulness slowly seeped into him as he surveyed the view and wondered where his new wife had got off to. She was hardly one to be up early on the weekends. Sleep was too valuable to her, and usually he was up first, making coffee and reading until she shuffled out, her hair mussed. If he was being honest, it was one of his favorite versions of her—sleepy and content, smiling and asking for coffee,  _stat_.

With an affectionate smile, he went to wash and brush his teeth, and when he was dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and his Nikes, he wandered into the living area. On the counter, he found a Starbucks cup, steam still issuing from the sipping spout. He blinked in surprise.

The Starbucks was usually his little trick when he had to leave before her.

A sip told him it was an Americano—she’d managed to remember his favorite, then.

“Where’d she go, huh, Max?” he asked the dog.

Max—still small at about knee height—gave a soft little bark and cocked his head, getting up on his hind legs to hug his master’s waist.

Smiling, he scratched him beneath his chin for a moment, before he noticed the short, hastily scribbled note left on the counter as well.

 

_Out and about. No worries._

 

A smiley face and a tiny, inky heart.

It was strange. He’d never seen himself as the sort of guy to go gooey— _ever_.

But he couldn’t deny to himself that her missing-ness put a damper on the sunny morning, and a tug in his chest was proof that he was missing her. He’d gotten so used to her being the first thing he saw when he woke, her dark hair spread on the pillow beside his, her creamy skin, her arm around him, her soft breathing a natural alarm clock that woke him with a gentle call rather than a harsh insistence.

He smirked. How domestic of him. “Where’d mum go, huh, Max?”

Max barked again.

“You gotta go out, bud?”

In reply, the dog loped lazily over to the door.

So Bucky grabbed his leather jacket, a baseball hat, and his aviators, linked Max up on his leash, and they went out.

They met not a soul in the hallways, nor in the elevator, and JARVIS didn’t try and make his version of conversation either.

Which was all  _very_  strange.

Max did a little shimmy waiting for the lift doors to open, and Bucky laughed at his impatience and held the door for him to go out first onto the New York sidewalk. He made straight for his little patch of grass across the way and immediately did his business. Bucky cleaned up and pulled out his phone, frowning to himself in confusion. It wasn’t like Darcy to just up and disappear, even with a note. Not to mention the fact that usually, even on the weekends, the halls were humming with at least a few people. Tony could usually be called on to make some sort of scene, either with an impromptu event, a random outing, or—at the very least—with some sort of hilarious, mad-cap, semi-violent lab accident.

“You’re the  _only_  apartment on that floor, Barnes—calm down,” he muttered to himself as he checked his messages. No texts, no missed calls.

“’Out and about. No worries’,” he muttered while the dog sniffed idly around, getting some semi-fresh smoggy air. “Not like her to be secretive,” he said to Max. “Is it, bud?”

Max barked again and tugged lightly on his leash, his version of a request to be walked.

With a smirk, Bucky slid his phone into his back pocket and off they went.

It was chilly, still, March not quite giving way to spring, but the sun was a warm comfort as they strolled down the center of the wide sidewalk. Max was a good walker, no pulling, a pretty neat heel, and no lunging at people as they passed. He didn’t even react much when they passed within just a few yards of a scruffy terrier wearing a little pink bow.

They made it nearly around the block before something else strange happened.

Bucky had always been a fairly acute observer—it had been what had made him a good sniper. Of course, the talent had only been sharpened with his transformation and sometimes he found himself annoyed at the little, tiny details no one else noticed.

But it was hard  _not_  to notice the same woman passing them, not once, not even twice—but  _three_  times, once on each block. She was cute, probably early twenties, with a willowy figure and long, honey-blond hair and a heart-shaped face. And she had a funny, not-quite-quantifiable expression on her features. Finally, he gave her a tentative look. “…Can I…help you?”

She looked over at them— _again_.

“You…look a bit lost.”

Glancing around, she edged over. “Is…is this your dog?” she asked, what nearly looked like deep, pink ink saturating her cheeks as she looked up at him.

He blinked. “Um. Yeah. Max.”

Smiling, she knelt and reached out for him. Not being shy in the slightest, the Shepherd pressed his head up into her hand, encouraging her to scratch at his ears. She grinned wider and sent a look up at him, pointed and overly sweet.

_Oh, no_.

He cleared his throat and made a point of pulling out his phone as a barrier.

He knew what this was. He hadn’t been out of the game so long—what with  _killing_  people for a few decades before falling  _hopelessly_  in love with Darcy—as to miss the signals of the modern dating scene.

“He’s so  _cute_!” she gushed, kneeling to scratch at Max.

Max ate it up, humming and twitching as she found a sensitive spot on his neck.

He made a show of checking his phone again. Maybe he’d imagined it. After all, it had been some years since he’d had a  _little too much_  confidence with women. And it had been a long time, of course. He hadn’t needed to relearn how to harness that old charm he’d been told he’d used back in the day. Things with Darcy had been so natural and easy.

But it  _had_  been a long time.

A  _long_   _time_.

“That’s his favorite spot,” he commented, clicking through his messages again.

Nothing. Where the hell was the girl?!

What did it say about them—and all the shit they’d gone through together—that her stepping out for a few hours sent him into a panic, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with immediate foreboding, like the earth was about to  _blow up_?

She didn’t appear to notice his hand at the end of his sleeve—bright metal in the early morning sun. But she said it all the same, plain as day. “You’re the Winter Soldier.”

Was he imagining the slightly raised register of her voice?

He didn’t wince. “Not anymore. It’s just Bucky.” He’d let that go finally— _for good_. That ghost was no longer haunting him. He’d set it free.

But she nodded like she didn’t hear him. “I’m…kind of a fan.” And she let loose a warm, husky laugh, clearly embarrassed, more color rising in her cheeks as she focused on Max.

_Oh, God_.

He blinked at her, his surprise pulling him from his phone. “A  _fan_?”

_Not_. What he’d been expecting.

She stood, looking down at her hands where she twisted them nervously. “Yeah.”

He blinked again. “You’re a  _fan_? Of a  _killer_?” The idea was preposterous and she couldn’t have set him back on his heels faster than if she’d told him the sky was  _yellow_.

She shrugged. “Well. I mean, it was all a conspiracy, right?”

Another set of blinks as he tried to process the direction this was going—quickly  _downhill_. And he’d been Sisyphus for long enough, and Don Quixote, and any other number of anti-heroes or damned characters you could think of—he was  _not_  tilting at this particular windmill.

_Not today_.

He was set with a sudden thought, a thought that seemed so obvious he couldn’t believe he’d missed it until now. Perfect for situations like this.

_What would Tony do?_

“ _Right_ ,” he said. “Yeah.”

She nodded, smiling. “You  _weren’t_   _really_  a killer. It was all the  _government_ —and the  _Russians_ , right? I mean, they made a villain out of you. You were an  _American hero_.”

He stopped the snort just in time. Snipers weren’t usually classified as  _heroes_. And that was  _without_  the addition of his Winter Soldier tag. Yeah, yeah, an American hero—the only one to  _assassinate a US president_! He could put that on his resume, if he ever needed one. “Sure.  _Right_.”

“I always hoped I’d run into you. I mean, I knew you lived in New York.”

He could’ve cursed that the city—good, old faithful Manhattan, with over  _one-and-a-half million fucking people_ —couldn’t manage to hide him just a  _little_  bit better.  _And_  with a baseball cap on,  _with_  sunglasses.

_Stupid left arm_.

He nodded. “Yep. Part of the team.”

_God_. The Old Bucky would’ve  _eaten this up_.

She giggled— _actually_  giggled. “That is  _so_  cool. So you know everyone who’s everyone.”

He desperately went back to his phone, pressing it against the ring on his third finger and feeling the warm lines of the platinum.

Funny that, now that he’d left that Old Bucky somewhere in the distant,  _distant_  past, determined feminine attention like this just made his feelings for Darcy more acute. Part of him wanted to sprint back to the Tower that very minute and track her down just so he could  _look_  at her.

“I’m Tina, by the way,” she offered.

He didn’t offer his hand. “Hi, Tina.”

She laughed again, folding her hair behind an ear. “Would you mind if I…got a picture?”

He winced. “I…I don’t think that’s a great idea.” For  _once_ , he could agree with Maria’s paranoia and over-careful nature.

Her face fell.

He winced again, and shrugged. “National Security. And all that.”

She nodded. “Right, yeah. Sorry.  _Well_ …”

_Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it._ He willed her to keep it off the table in his mind, willed her not to put him in any more of a precarious and awkward position.

“We could get coffee sometime…?”

He tried not to visibly deflate as she went there anyway.

His phone buzzed in his hand and he glanced down at it. “Listen, I…”

Her face flushed and she took a step back, reading him. “You’re not interested,” she filled in, looking mortified.

_He couldn’t agree more._ “No, no. I mean, you’re…you’re very pretty, I mean,” he fumbled as Max stared up at him with what he could swear was a look of wry humor.

And she was.  _Very_  pretty. Just not his type.  _At all_.

And it was odd—he had to figure that most married men still noticed, still looked at, still  _appreciated_  other women. And maybe it was just that Honeymoon Phase he still wasn’t sure he thought was altogether real. But beyond an unbiased observation, he found himself doing nothing but comparing her to the woman he’d married. “I’m…I’m taken.”

A beat.

“ _Oh_.” She nodded, her expression changing, reading him wrong, and she looked almost glad to have a challenge,  _relieved_. “That’s okay. We can still have fun.  _How_  taken?” She stepped in closer and angled her body just that certain way he remembered, hip out, chest up, head tilted.

He sighed, wanting to kick himself for calling her pretty. “ _Very_.  _Very_  taken. I’m, like,  _extremely_  taken.” There wasn’t a word that was more ‘ _more’_  than ‘ _very’_  but if there was, he’d  _use it_. He literally didn’t think he could possibly be any more devoted to her than he was now.

What was the song from that drive-in movie she’d shown him? With the singing and the greasers, and the carnival at the end? The girl—Sandy—she’d totally sacrificed her own dignity to him at the end, the jerk. Danny, was it? And the cigarette, and that tight little outfit. Hot. But totally lame.

_‘Hopelessly devoted to you’_. Right, yeah, that was it.

He was getting out of focus.

Tina smiled—very wide, dropping her eyes just a little, heavy-lidded and sultry. “Are you  _sure_?”

He gave her a look, his patience slipping at her, frankly,  _obnoxious_  tenacity. “ _I’m sure_.” And he tilted his hand just a little so that the sunlight burst off the ring on his finger. “And she’s waiting for me to get back,” he lied. “So I should go.”

On cue, his phone buzzed again against his palm.

She rolled her eyes, dropping the pretense all at once. “ _Fine_.” And she stalked off. “Winter  _Jerk_  is more like it.”

He sighed again and looked down at Max. “Well. Looks like I lost a fan.”

Max barked.

He finally checked his phone. Two texts. Frowning, he clicked through them. Both from Darcy.

 

_Go to the courthouse front desk and Roberta will give you something you need._

Then, the second, five minutes later, when it was clear he hadn’t answered—

 

_Copy?_

 

He blinked again, not quite computing, and took a sip of his coffee, still just barely warm. And he typed back to her—

 

_What?_

 

A moment later—

 

_Just take your orders, Soldier Boy. Over and out._

 

He snorted at her use of two-way talk and smiled. She hadn’t called him Soldier Boy in a while, and something about it made him feel warm all over.

Whatever. He could follow orders. Usually, he was  _giving_  them, but he’d gotten there by taking them without much question; he could do it again.

He took Max back upstairs, gave him his cup of food, and left, palming his keys and tugging his cap lower over his face, tossing his empty cup on the way out the door.

He made quick work of the walk up Park, and it took him a moment to determine if the acid-washed doors were, in fact, the main lobby, but he went in and took a look around.

With a frown, he approached the counter, the right window, with barred plexi-glass, and cleared his throat, feeling a little foolish. “Um. I’m supposed to ask for… _Roberta_?”

The woman looked up and smiled. “And you got her.” She eyed him critically, an eyebrow raised. “You Jamie?”

He smirked at the fact that Darcy was the only person who got away with calling him that, let alone told other people it was his name. He’d been  _Bucky_  so long, sometimes he forgot. “ _Yyyeeah_. Technically speaking.”

Her grin widened and she nodded, winking. “Girl wasn’t kidding.”

He blinked. “ _I’m sorry_?”

She waved a careless hand. “Oh, she told me you were  _real_  handsome, and she wasn’t lying.”

He could feel the blush to the tips of his ears. “Who?” he asked, just to confirm. He was beginning to have the feeling that something funny was going on.

She laughed and slid a folded slip of paper through the tray, not easily fooled. “The girl who left this for you.”

He took it. “ _Oookay_.”

She winked again and waved. “You have fun, honey.” Her phone rang and she answered it, already moving on with her morning.

Feeling  _absolutely ridiculous_ , he went back out and unfolded the single slip of paper.

 

_Proceed to the Central Park duck pond. You know where. Sit down for ten minutes. Breathe, and await further orders._

 

Darcy’s handwriting. Another little inky heart.

Feeling thoroughly lost, he folded the paper again and took off for the park, shaking his head in confusion at what was obviously supposed to be some sort of game. To what end was beyond him, but a scavenger hunt he  _could_  do.

The sun continued to warm the still winter-cold concrete beneath his feet, and he enjoyed the heat that radiated through his sneakers as he cut over to the park. The pond was near the center at one end and he was on the wrong side. Glancing around—Central Park was large and, consequently, not always safe—he started off toward the other side.

Obviously she had something planned. This was one of a small number of spots that held a certain amount of significance for them, so he could only imagine what she would be doing waiting for him there.

But his relief was false—and short-lived. She was nowhere in sight. He walked the small pond twice, stepping over geese poo and any number of ducks as he completed the circuit. When he was back to the rock they’d shared lunch on, it was most definitely empty.

No Darcy.

Growing even more confused, he sat down and sighed, the rock cool, but not cold beneath him, its position raised slightly off the ground at the shore of the pond making it easier for the sun to warm.

So he sat.

And  _sat_.

He found plenty of distractions. The ducks were putting on quite the acrobatic show, bobbing around, looking for tender morsels. A group of teenagers across the way were teasing a gaggle of geese and he laughed as one of the fools got too close and had to lunge back from being bitten.

He laughed harder when one particular goose gave chase and the boy darted away, a high-pitched squeal causing laughter amongst his friends.

He took a deep breath, finding spring blooms in the air, as well as new buds on the tree he sat beneath, the huge oak that sheltered the little platform where he’d first kissed Darcy.

He smirked at his own foolishness as his heart fluttered in affection. It still gave him butterflies, tough guy or not. It was a warm, cherished memory he kept close to his heart for moments of doubt or unease.

Just then, his phone buzzed. Had it been ten minutes  _already_?

 

_Next up: our coffee shop. Relax on our couch and await further orders. DO NOT ORDER ANYTHING._

 

With a resigned sigh, he got up and went on his way, back toward home and across the street. He’d barely sat down when a barista in a baseball hat appeared, squinting at him and holding another folded slip of paper. “Bucky?” he asked, cocking his head.

He rolled his eyes, but smiled as he pulled off his sunglasses and slid them over the collar of his v-neck. “Yep.”

He handed over the paper. “Girl left this for you.”

Bucky took it. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Pretty cute? Brunette? Real curvy, with a tight little ass?”

Bucky forced down the twinge of irritation at so blatant an observation, swallowed, and nodded. “That’s her, alright.”

The guy nodded again. “Have fun, man.”

He tugged off his coat. “Would if I knew what the hell was going on.”

The barista merely shrugged and slouched off, back to the counter.

With another eye roll, Bucky opened the folded slip and read his wife’s neat, slanted scrawl again, this note much longer than the previous one.

 

_Follow all of Josh’s orders. Only then should you proceed to the address below. And I mean all of his orders, Soldier Boy. Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect Two-Hundred Dollars, and if you don’t I’ll know all about it. I have ways. Take your time. Really. This is all about you._

 

Another tiny inked heart, only this one was accompanied by a miniscule ‘I love you’, before giving way to the address listed below, as promised, what actually was an intersection.

 

_Central Park West and 79 th_

__

He blinked, his confusion deepening. Seventy-ninth and Central Park West? Why was that address familiar? He  _knew_  that address…

The barista— _Josh_ —appeared again, slouching over and depositing a frothy drink in front of him and a plate with a decadent-looking chocolate croissant on it, a weakness of his that she sometimes tweaked him about. Josh smirked. “An Americano, extra whip, and a chocolate croissant.”

Bucky blinked. “But I—”

“Part of my orders, man. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

He opened his mouth again—

“And  _no_ , I  _don’t_  know what’s going on, dude. I just have my instructions and a really great tip.” He started off again. “And I didn’t write on that napkin, man, just FYI.” And he was gone, disappearing into the back of the shop.

Mouth open in surprise and utter bewilderment, he snatched the napkin from under his plate and found it  _full_  of her neat, angled printing, absolutely  _full_ , down one side and continuing on the other, all pressed desperately together, as though the words had exceeded the room capacity and had to squash against each other to fit in case of emergency.

He blinked.

Then he blinked  _again_.

He’d been doing that an  _awful_  lot that morning.

 

_Jamie,_

_I feel pretty lame sitting here, alone, in the corner of the coffee house in the middle of the afternoon rush, scribbling on a napkin, but not lame enough to actually stop. I’ve never been particularly good with words, let alone letting other people hear them. So I figure I’ll write it all down instead and maybe that’ll be an acceptable alternative. Turns out, I feel just as stupid writing them as I would saying them out loud, but. Here goes._

_I know you don’t feel particularly worthy of me. We could argue about that, as my gramps would’ve said, ‘til the cows come home’, but that’s beside the point. I wasn’t sure what would happen that afternoon when I sat down with you in the lab. I just knew that I thought you looked like you could use a friend and an open ear. I had absolutely no idea it would turn into this._

_What we have is something I don’t know how to quantify or classify. It’s kept me afloat on this sea of crazy we’ve been swimming through the past couple years. And I don’t know if you really understand how much I need you. You couldn’t, really, I guess, because I could never find the words to tell you—there aren’t any words for explaining what it feels like to love someone the way I love you. I could use all those cheesy, stupid lines like, ‘to the moon and back’, but that’s been so overused it just feels like, sappy, soulless crap._

_You take care of me in a way I’ve never had before. And you push me in a way I need, with plenty of support and quiet understanding. You give me space when you somehow know I need it. And you make sure to be on my ass if you know I don’t. You’re patient with me. You don’t take any of my shit. You let me handle things on my own, but you always have a hand at my back, you always cover my six, and that comforts me in a way I don’t know how to communicate. I know you’ll scoff, but you’re the best man I’ve ever met. I’m sort of convinced you’re really a Disney prince in disguise, but don’t tell Jane. You convinced a really skeptical girl to marry you, take your name, and spend the rest of her life with you._

_That should tell you something about your character, Soldier Boy. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better partner if I’d actually tried. You…well, you complete me, and all that crap, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it._

_So I guess I’ll just say it: you stole my heart like the sniper thief that you are. But I’ll let you keep it. It’s safer with you, anyway._

_With so much love you could choke a horse,_

_Your Girl_

 

           

            He sat there, staring at her scribbled words for a full five minutes, totally unaware of the bustling shop around him, not hearing a thing—including the irritable customer at the counter who didn’t get enough foam on the top of his Macchiato. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart deep in his ears.

            “You’re gonna eat that, right?” a voice cut in.

            He jerked, blinking up at Josh, who was leaning lazily on the opposite arm of the couch and gesturing at the croissant.

            Barely seeing him, he nodded.

            The barista slunk off again.

            The room came back to him in a rush and he looked around, a little dazed, and swallowed the thick lump of feeling in his throat.

            Of course, he’d always known all that. She’d said it all before, albeit in fits and starts, rushing ahead and stammering it out, her cheeks aflame.

            But…

            Leave it to Darcy to pour her heart out in blue ink on a tiny coffee shop napkin—and to make him all damp-eyed to boot.

            He cleared his throat and reached for the plate on the table with a shaking hand. What on earth had brought all this on was beyond him, but he’d learned not to question his luck these last couple years.

            He made sure to savor that croissant down to the very last nibble, hearing Darcy in his head the one time she’d jokingly suggested that if she’d known he’d had such a soft spot for chocolate she’d have used it to bribe him into bed a lot sooner. She’d capped the tease by then buying a whole bottle of syrup the next trip to the store, raising an eyebrow and offering to drizzle it everywhere  _but there_  that evening.

            He’d stared at her like a fool, only half convinced she’d actually do it.

            He’d made the mistake of daring her.

            Needless to say, they’d made a rather sticky mess that night all over the pristine white bedsheets. It had been so much fun, he didn’t even care what the laundry service must’ve thought. It couldn’t have been any worse than Tony’s shenanigans back in the day.

He took his time polishing off the Americano, making sure to remember to ask for extra whip the next time he ordered, and watched the goings-on around him, his heart both light and heavy with everything she’d written.

She was right: it was hard to put to words the way someone could make you feel. He often didn’t know what to say to her either, just like he’d not had any way to seal himself off from the flood of nameless emotions as he’d watched her teeter on the brink of life and death.

They were even, now, in that regard—he’d saved her life, to some degree, that afternoon she’d been gutted. And she’d reciprocated by dragging him back from the depths after that explosion. She’d stolen him back from the clutches of death. According to Stephen Strange, that amount of daring had a price. He shuddered to think of what that might mean for them.

But those were thoughts for another time.

He signaled Josh behind the counter, who  _actually came over_ , peered into the cup, then surveyed the plate. He nodded. “Right. You’re free to go.” He slouched off again, cleaning off the table with a lazy gesture.

He slid on his coat, then his sunglasses, carefully folded all the paper and slid it reverently into his back pocket, and went out the door, holding it for a pair of teenaged girls, who giggled as they only half-looked at him.

Back the way he’d come, then, up to Central Park West, then he cut over and headed for 79th, the crowds thickening as he got closer to the intersection.

His confused mood had improved to one of bright cheerfulness, and try as he might, as he was in the habit of doing, he found not a lick of the shadow he usually found, nipping at his heels like a small dog or a cat after a string.

It was sunny and bright.

The temperature was definitely rising. Spring was coming, and summer just there, on the horizon, bright days spent running around town with Darcy, going for evening walks with Max, laughing on the deck late into the night, trying to spot the stars against the harsh lights of New York City.

She wore his ring.

She used his name.

He was content for the first time in a long time.

He stopped and stared as he came up on the appointed intersection, blinking in confusion as he stood on the corner, looking at the towering Ionic columns of the Museum of Natural History.

“That would explain the familiar address,” he muttered to himself. “What  _is_  that girl up to?” He crossed the street, glancing around as he slid his sunglasses back into his shirt collar.

The museum featured in other warm memories in addition to the duck pond and the coffee house. They’d spent a fair amount of time here after they’d first met. It had featured in a few early dates and afternoon’s out, relaxed rainy days and bright summer afternoons with nothing much to do.

She’d called him a nerd, but he’d always been a science and history sort of guy and she’d taken far, far too many pictures of him standing in front of any number of specimens in the museum’s dinosaur collection. She’d hung the one of them in front of the Brontosaurus in one of the frames in their living room, in fact.

So he went around to the 81st street entrance and climbed the steps with a smile, not quite sure what the heck was going on. If this was supposed to be some sort of scavenger hunt with her as the prize, he was game, but he’d be damned if he went in without a strategy.

If she wanted to play Hard-to-Get, two could play at that game. So when he went in the main doors and stood in the lobby, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, but was surprised when the girl behind the desk said, “James Barnes?”

He blinked at her smiling, friendly face. “Does everyone in the Goddamn city suddenly know my name?” he asked her with a rueful smirk.

But she didn’t comment beyond yet another wink and, “Already paid for. You can go right in.” She nodded to the clerk at the rope and he gestured him through.

He sighed as he stood in the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Hall, hands on hips as he pondered his next move. It was  _huge_  in here; she could be  _anywhere_. He wandered through the Hall of Biodiversity and got lost for a few minutes before he figured she wasn’t around there.

The Hall of Human Origins always attracted him, and he took a turn through there too, before finally giving up and moving on to the Hall of Ocean Life.

He headed upstairs and cut through the Hall of African Mammals—he loved that lion family—before heading up once again, and finding himself deposited with the reptiles and amphibians. Well, he knew she wasn’t  _there_. She liked animals of all sorts, but usually he had to peel her away from the African Mammal exhibit, and she often got impatient with  _him_   _here_ , anxious to move on while he stared at all the frogs.

He went up again and was just thinking that he’d go back down and start over if she wasn’t in the Orientation Center when he caught a glimpse of skirt and some leg in his peripheral vision. He glanced up just as a flash of dress darted around the next corner.

Seizing on the opportunity—why was she wearing the dress from their  _horrendous_  New Year’s adventure last year?—he sprang after her, smirking.

He came out into the Hall of Advanced Mammals only fast enough to catch her shoulder this time, and her dark hair streaking around the next bend.

He grinned.  _Definitely_  Darcy.

He  _liked_  this game.

Prowling after her and relishing the role of flirtatious huntsman that she’d given him, he slipped around the bend after her, through and Hall of Primitive Mammals, and into the Hall of Ornithischian Dinosaurs—

Only to find it largely empty, but for a few small groups of parents and children.

He scowled.

_Damn_  her, making it hard.

Laughing like a fool, he took the next turn hard and found himself in the Hall of Saurischian Dinosaurs—

Where she stood, right there, in front of him, before that same Brontosaurus.

He smiled.

She didn’t look back at him; just continued to stand there, studying the hulking skeleton in front of her with a concentrative frown.

She was wearing that same dress, the one from their disastrous New Year’s wild goose chase. Different shoes, though, open sandals in a perfectly identical color. Even her toes matched, and her fingers.

Her hair was loose and waving in a sleek curtain down her back, and one of the spotlights above lit up a shimmering section of her cheekbone and refracted off the ring on her finger.

She was  _stunning_.

Honestly, if he thought back, he couldn’t find a  _single_  girl—whether a casual flirtation or a legitimate conquest—that made his heart pitter-patter like  _she_  did.

He approached slowly, casually, his heart pounding as he slid his hands into his jeans pockets and leaned against the railing a few yards down from her position.

They stood for a moment in companionable silence, the room otherwise empty and quiet, but for the buzzing of the spotlights highlighting certain sections of bones and interlocking joints in the huge, long-dead creature before them. He glanced down at the interactive info board in front of him and smirked.

This was a first for her—a wild and spontaneous flirtation like this—and it was making him  _crazy_  for her.

He slid a little closer along the rail.

She didn’t move; didn’t react at all.

He slid a little closer still.

Then a little closer, until he was just a few feet away.

“It’s just incredible,” she suddenly said, her voice low in the cavernous hall. “Isn’t it?”

He forced himself not to look at her. “What is?”

She sighed. “That something this large and  _incredible_  could’ve walked the same earth we walk every day.”

“It is.” He smiled and nodded, studying it, but barely seeing it for the other side, nearer the head, where they’d taken that picture together that afternoon. He hadn’t had the guts to tell her how gorgeous she was that day. They’d just met a few weeks prior, after all, and he’d gotten the feeling she was a little skittish. And besides—he wasn’t himself yet. He’d gotten only flashes, then, of his old life. Bright snatches and urges, brief sensations and memories, thoughts he was mired in sorting through.

But he’d looked at her that afternoon and been nearly overcome with  _want_  for her. She’d made him feel alive for the first time in  _decades_ , truly, and she’d snapped that photo with her phone before he’d even realized he’d been staring at her for half a minute, lost in the graceful lines of her face, her mischievous eyes and her flirtatious mouth.

He’d almost kissed her then.

Finally, she looked over at him, gentle playfulness in her warm, blue eyes. “Took you long enough, Soldier Boy.”

He smirked and edged the rest of the way to her, closing the distance and pretending not to notice when she pulled back a step, keeping a body’s width between them. He knew what this was.

Some sort of careful dance that she’d clearly taken time to choreograph.

He didn’t want to take a wrong step and ruin the routine. Besides, this opening bit was too much fun. “Well.  _Someone_  seemed to be timing me.”

“Mm.” She nodded. “And did you enjoy yourself?”

He smirked. “Apart from the bit where I took the dog for a walk and got hit on by an overzealous conspiracy chick? Yeah. I did.”

A flicker of wry humor. “Conspiracy?”

He nodded. “Mm-hmm. I got rid of her quick enough.”

She raised a brow. “’ _Rid of_ ’? You didn’t shank her and stuff her in an alley, did you?”

He considered this idea with a head tilt. “You know, I got the  _strangest_  feeling she  _wanted_  me to, she seemed a little kinky.”

She laughed softly.

“But no.”

She went back to the dinosaur.

He kept watching her, unable to tear his gaze away from the inviting flick of her eyeliner or her deep red lips. “I missed waking up next to you this morning,” he murmured, inviting her to explain herself a little.

But she didn’t take the bait. “Sorry. Things to do.”

He couldn’t stop the smile on his mouth. “Like what?”

She gave him a coy look that could’ve stopped  _traffic_ , let alone  _his heart_. “That information is on a ‘Need-to-Know’ basis only.”

He laughed, nodding. “And I don’t need to know?”

She made a show of thinking about it as she went back to staring up at the huge lizard. “Mm. No. Sorry.”

He tried sliding closer again, his heart stammering in his chest. “Can I  _apply_  for the information?”

She slid back again, biting her lip. “You’ll have to request approval from a higher clearance level agent—”

Laughing, he snatched at her wrist and stopped her, taking ground and tugging her up against him, his pulse jumping in his throat. “And would I  _know_  her, by chance?”

Never mind that they had the same security clearance.

She looked up into his eyes and they shared a look, one of those still moments you could feel  _while_  you were  _inside_  them, time slowing for just a split second, sealing you in a bubble where  _nothing else_  existed. “…Maybe.”

He lowered his face to hers—

But she broke his surprised grip and darted—laughing—away, shooting around him too fast for him to catch in his ongoing confused state. Her skirt whipped around her thighs as she scurried across the width of the hall and out the door.

He shot after her, recovering out into the hallway.

But the hall was empty.

In fact, all that was out there was the doorway to the next hall over, the Special Exhibit Hall. Frowning in confusion—was there anything new going on in here he hadn’t heard about?—he stepped up and threw the door open—

“SURPRISE!!!”

He stood there, framed in the doorway, stunned as he looked at the small crowd within the huge room. Everyone was there: Tony, Pepper, and Bruce, Steve and Natasha, Clint, Laura and the kids. Thor— _alone_. Scott stood on the outskirts, looking a little embarrassed, Peter to match beside him. Even Stephen Strange was there, smiling.

And Darcy, Front and Center, smiling, with thick tears shivering on her lashes.

“Happy Birthday,” she said.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” everyone echoed her, laughing.

Steve was doubled over, he was giggling so hard, his face reddening. “You should see your  _face_!!”

“What is it, now, a hundred-and-two?!” Tony called, grinning.

Pepper swatted him.

“Get your ass in here!” Clint called.

“ _Yeah_!” Lila backed him up, only to have Laura slap a hand over her mouth.

“That’s  _not_  a word that you use! Clint, don’t teach her swear words.”

“I knew you’d forget,” Darcy said, gesturing him into the room.

Shocked silent, he shut the door behind him. Immediately, the lights dimmed and were replaced by string lights, twinkly and low, all hung from the curtains used to separate the sections of the large hall for different exhibits. There was a long, running table off to the side with hors d’oeuvres—and an absolutely  _monstrous_ , chocolate ganache, mirror-glazed cake.

He blinked again.

Darcy came forward as everyone broke off into conversation, a tremulous smile on her face and her eyes shining.

He stared at her, unable to think of anything to say, all the things she’d written on that tiny napkin front and center in his mind.

She’d set this all up—just for his  _birthday_?! How had he forgotten his  _own birthday_?!

She sniffled and set a hand to his chest. “Every word was true.”

“I—” he started, then stopped. “I… _Darcy_ , I…”

“Do you like it?”

He nodded. “I can’t  _believe_  you…” He stared around, stunned. “This was all for… _this_?”

She nodded, laughing damply. “I  _knew_  you’d forget. And this year’s been so insane, I figured I had to go big, you know? Go big or go home, so…”

“But, that-that, like, scavenger hunt, and chasing you around, and…”

She laughed again, nodding. “All to get you here. I thought I’d take you on a greatest hits tour.”

“And everyone…”

“Was in on it, oh yeah.  _Hard_.”

He sighed. “I  _thought_  the building seemed empty earlier.”

“Yep. Told ‘em to clear out, whoever was joining us.”

“Suppose they were all here.”

She shook her head. “Nope. This was  _all_  me.”

He whipped his head back around to stare at her again. “ _What_?”

“Every step was me.”

“And Roberta, and…Josh…”

“The uncomfortable barista—yep.  _All_  me.”

He chuckled. “He thought you were hot.”

But she didn’t seem surprised. “Yeah, and I turned him down—twice.”

“ _Twice_?”

“Yeah.  _Twice_.”

He laughed, looking around. “I can’t believe you did all this just for my  _birthday_.”

She gave him a funny look. “Why? It’s  _you_. When I told Steve about it, he didn’t even let me finish before asking how he could help. Seriously, he was like a kid at Disneyworld.”

He snorted. “And what was  _his_  part in all this?”

She gestured. “He’s tall. He and Thor hung the lights.”

He laughed.

“So why aren’t you eating?” Tony suddenly appeared at his shoulder. “We’re all starving. We’ve been waitin’ on you, kid.”

They all filled up plates and sat around on the plush chairs in the space, Darcy perching on the arm of his in her blue dress as everyone wished him a happy birthday.

She squirmed a little as she caught him looking at her yet again, his eyes soft. “What do you keep staring at me for?”

He chuckled. “I like that dress. Even if it reminds me of that whole misadventure.”

She laughed, a blush coloring her cheeks. “That’s why I wore it. That’s what this was all about.”

“A stop at all our spots?”

She set down her plate. “Cheesy, right?”

He shrugged. “No. It was sweet.” He sighed as he finished his cake. “I just can’t believe you…and all this, and…”

She gave him a gentle smile. “You know, a lot of people actually  _like_  you. There’s just a  _tiny_  number left who still think you’re…you know, unhinged.”

He chuckled. He hadn’t really thought of it that way before.

“I hope you don’t mind, but, um…” Darcy squirmed again, biting her lip. “I told ‘em you’d feel awkward with gifts, so I sort of told them not to bring any.”

He shrugged. “That’s fine, Darce. You know me.”

She nodded. “I mean,  _I_  totally got you something. And I’m sure Tony and Steve ignored me all the way, but…”

He laughed.

Good God, she’d thrown him a  _surprise_  party.

He hadn’t had this many friends since The War, and in war, you sort of make strange bedfellows and he couldn’t really be certain of any of that anymore.

She’d  _thrown him a surprise party_.

The contentment he’d felt earlier warmed him all the way to his toes as he watched everyone laughing, eating, teasing each other, fitting in—a little family of misfits.

He felt right at home.

Tony offered to put on loud, thumping music, but no one wanted to dance.

Clint suggested a drinking game, but Darcy put the kibosh on that before someone got drunk in the middle of a classy museum.

“Why don’t we just, like,  _go out into the museum_? I mean, since we’re here, and all,” Peter finally spoke up, hand raised and everything. “I mean, I’ve lived here my whole life and I think I’ve been here, like,  _twice_.”

“You’re whole life?” Strange teased him, giving him a look. “What is that, about sixteen years?”

Peter blushed.

But the idea gained traction and they cleaned up, shut off the lights, and filed slowly out in a line, Darcy hooking her pinky finger around his and setting her head on his shoulder. “Happy Birthday, Soldier Boy.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks, Dollface.”

Tony grumbled from behind them at the slow speed of their pace, even while Lila and Cooper argued ahead and held them up, Clint turning red in embarrassment. “Okay, I don’t know about you guys, but I wanna see this Brontosaurus you keep talking about.”

 


End file.
